Kylie Minogue: ‘I don’t want to become a tribute act to myself’

This summer, fourteen years after ill health forced her to cancel a headline performance at Glastonbury, the Princess Of Pop realised a monumental moment she’d thought would never happen. GQ joined Kylie Minogue in the wings of Worthy Farm to witness a barnstorming legends set three decades in the making...

Somewhere in Somerset, a short drive from a large, sun-scorched field filled with hundreds of thousands of men, women, members of Extinction Rebellion, half of Wu-Tang Clan, Lizzo, scary rave clowns, the cast of (new) Cats, Noel Gallagher’s wife, Kate Moss’ posh boyfriend and the governor of the Bank Of England smiling and drinking pints of Whispering Angel, Kylie Minogue is stepping out of a six-seater chopper and desperately trying to kid herself that this is just another day at pop’s coalface.

The game face is on, but her inner anxiety finds chinks, escape routes through that big megawatt pop-star grin. “I usually have something witty to say at times like this...” remarks the 51-year-old antipodean to her welcome party, which includes a film crew to capture this momentous occasion. As she walks, Minogue seems to hold on to herself, the down-blast from the whirring helicopter blades threatening to blow her still tiny frame into the hedgerow at any moment. “But I’ve got nothing right now. It’s been a whole mixture of emotions already.”

Backstage, within the guts of Glastonbury Festival’s Pyramid Stage, the humblebrag so often used by high-profile notables – “This takes a village” – feels like a desperate understatement considering the endeavour and enterprise unfurling for Minogue’s show. Put it this way, the operation makes saving the Whaley Bridge dam look somewhat lacklustre.

As Minogue disappears to begin final preparations for what will be the biggest gig of her 30-year career – the “legend” slot on the festival’s main stage at 3.45pm today, Sunday 30 June 2019 – her troupe of dancers limber up, an army of seamstresses alter, darn and sew, her pale creative director, Rob Sinclair, who looks like he needs a whirl on one of those intravenous vitamin drips, bites his quick over the running time (“We’ve been allotted 75 minutes and the show is currently 76. It’s tighter than tight”) and her band members go in search of some festival catering.

And Minogue? “I just bumped into her actually,” explains Glasto grand fromage Michael Eavis when I see him goal-hanging outside Minogue’s warren of dressing rooms with his daughter, Emily, herself now chief festival operator round here. Michael is sporting a fetching piece of official merch: a white nylon sun visor with “signature” Kylie logo. It makes him look like the punchline to a Banksy artwork – in a good way. “Suits me, don’t you think?” he says, chuckling warmly. “What a moment for her – not least as she was meant to be here 14 years ago but had to cancel...”

For the benefit of Jacob Rees-Mogg and others who have been living under a cultural rock for the past two decades, Kylie was supposed to headline Glastonbury in 2005, but a sudden breast cancer diagnosis and subsequent treatment halted her big plans. At their own headline slot that same year Coldplay famously (and superbly) covered “Can’t Get You Out Of My Head” as a heartfelt tribute to their absent friend – and the world has been waiting patiently for her return ever since.

It feels like a circle is closing today,” Eavis explains, with eyes that shimmer in genuine emotion like two giant blue marbles. “A journey that began for Kylie all those years ago is finally coming to a close. She’ll get a decent crowd. That’s for sure.” Speaking of which, you can hear them out there, roaring along to queer icon Olly Alexander and his band, Years & Years. It already sounds like a rocket taking off in a bathtub.

In Minogue’s dressing rooms, I work my way through one door, past a security guard the size of Vesuvius, then another door with a sign that says “Secret Squirrel Number One” and there she is, sitting down in what I can only describe as “underwear as outerwear”, a nightie the colour of a Lemon Drop Martini. She’s with none other than Nick Cave. Cave, looking like the cantankerous sex pope of rock’n’roll he’s always been, seems to be perusing a rail of identical deep blue suits over by the far wall. “What are these?” he asks of the suits, which are in fact Minogue’s dancers’ first costume change, “And where the hell is mine?”

Crouched behind a sofa, I watch utterly beguiled as Cave and Minogue tenderly rehearse the song they released in 1995, “Where The Wild Roses Grow” – one of two surprise guest spots for the show this afternoon. The artistic chemistry between the two, even just accompanied by an acoustic guitar, makes the flimsy partition walls practically sweat.

As someone always looking to tweak, refine and uptick each and every note sung and performance given – not least this one – Minogue is keen to discuss on-stage interaction with her longtime duettist. Apparently, a number of red roses will be handed out to audience members to wave during the song – does Cave want one to wield too? “Hmm… Bit Morrissey, don’t you think?”

Hugs are exchanged, laughter cuts some of the tension and Cave ducks out to hang until needed with his wife, fashion designer Susie Cave, and son Earl, all of whom should win best-dressed family at everything they ever attend forever. In fact, during his dressing room rehearsal with Minogue I catch myself gawping at Cave’s bottle-green Gucci suit, his socks sparkling like emeralds brought up from the lost city of Atlantis.

The man known to Minogue’s planning team as “Secret Squirrel Number Two” is a Glasto stalwart, having headlined here more times than Bradley Cooper has been seen down The Rabbit Hole necking wheatgrass pingers until 5am.

A squeal: “Oh, hi, Chris!” Yes, it’s Chris Martin – who else? Minogue asked Martin to join her on stage to sing “Can’t Get You Out Of My Head”, partly as a thank you to Martin for his tender tribute all those years ago, partly as a thank you to the fans for waiting, partly for “The Show” and the Eavises, but mostly so the sacred, as yet disjointed ley lines that run like holy water from an absent Minogue in 2005 to this very moment 14 years later can end with good vibes and a sense of closure.

Whatever you think about Martin’s music – I, for one, have long been a fan – he has a reverberating presence. As he weaves through the backstage clutter, the air gets thinner, while eyes get drawn and backs stiffen a little. Far from the lanky, pallid young man who got upset when Oasis manager Alan McGee picked on his band and his music almost 20 years ago, Martin’s face smiles gently. But behind the eyes there’s a principled guiding force that pushes him towards the thing he wants to achieve. This, the Glastonbury main stage, is also, perhaps more than anywhere, very much Martin’s home turf and he walks among us a Glasto god.

The duo’s rehearsal of Minogue’s iconic pop banger – with Martin on acoustic guitar and additional “la, la, las” – goes exquisitely. One thing, however, that Martin is keen not to be seen doing today is taking any shine away from Minogue’s big moment. It’s sweetly considerate; perhaps unsurprisingly, he’s incredibly self-aware in that way.

During the run-through it’s clear Martin knows that his appearance on stage with Stormzy two nights prior – playing keys on the soulful “Blinded By Your Grace Part 1” during the grime artist’s historic Friday-night headline set – was met with confusion by some in the vast, oil-slick-thick crowd. A handful, perhaps unfairly, felt that it was an unnecessary intrusion by Martin, a man who has had his fair share of big moments on that particular stage. “I think it’s important you ask me up,” he explains to Minogue as they talk and rehearse. “If you could explain why it is I am here, I think that would help.” Minogue, herself full of intuition and deep perception knows how to handle stuff like this. No problem, she tells him. She, too, has an ask: “Chris, you know this crowd better than anyone. Got any wisdom for me today?” Martin tells her he thinks it’s important to be in the moment, at some point to forget the timings and soak some of it up. “But, hey, don’t worry,” he beams. “We’re all with you. You have nothing to worry about.”

As Martin heads back to his cubbyhole to keep a low profile until stage time, I ask him why it’s important for him to be here today for Minogue. “Well, I think she invited us here because we played ‘Can’t Get You Out Of My Head’ so badly 14 years ago and she wants to show us how it’s done properly.” I tell Martin I feel Minogue is worried about sticking to the rigid 75-minute window she’s been given for the show, leaving her almost no wiggle room. It seems to be causing her some anxiety.

“I mean, it’s great that we all worry about our performance, as it’s the thing that drives us and makes us hungry, but this place, more than any, if the songs are cool and you’re looking like you are happy to be there, the audience will lift it way up. I think someone like Kylie, when you have been around for that long, the audience wants to impress her. I certainly do.”

In 34 minutes’ time I will watch from the side as Minogue walks onto the Pyramid Stage to the sound of a line being drawn underneath her own legacy, a legacy that stretches all the way through the hundreds of thousands of smiling faces, past the silly flags and the big fence, across countries and all the way into pop’s big, shiny, culture-stuffed history book. Martin was right: he, they, you, all of us do our very damnedest to live up to this moment for her.

I had a complete and absolute meltdown.” Almost exactly one month after Glastonbury – her performance hailed universally as barnstorming – Minogue and I are in the basement of Blakes Hotel in Chelsea, not far from her London house, trying to figure out exactly what that moment in a hot field in Somerset in June was all about. Not so much for the audience, you understand – they all know what that felt like (so, so good) – but for Minogue, for her career, for her personally and for what in God’s name is supposed to happen next.

I tell Minogue that the last time I saw her was backstage, straight after the Glastonbury show, surrounded by friends, management and her brother, who had flown in from Melbourne especially. Ever the hostess, she was clutching a jar of homemade honey her friend the actress Tilda Swinton had given her, something for her voice, to take with hot water and lemon as her UK tour picked up again, to Cornwall at the Eden Project, after only one rest day. Backstage, amid the heady glory and Glasto haze, I had asked her how she felt. “On a high!” she said, before adding, a little more quietly, “But still processing.”

So how’s the processing going? I ask. “I’m still doing it to a certain extent and I think I always will be,” she explains, today dressed casually in an oversized denim shirt, light denim jeans, Chanel pumps and a delicate silk top the colour of fresh oysters. Her hair is pulled back and around her neck is a simple gold “K” necklace designed and given to her by her boyfriend. It’s a dark room, but Minogue, as ever, dazzles.

“All roads led to Glastonbury,” she tells me of the pressure she felt. “I couldn’t even bring myself to call it ‘Glastonbury’; my team and I named it ‘The Short Show’. I was so worried about, well, everything. I kept having flashes of Spinal Tap.” The mockumentary? “Yeah, Spinal Tap-style nightmares [in] the weeks leading up to it. We had to create a show that was plug’n’play, right? You have a flat stage and the crew have half an hour to build your set and then put it on. So we have these amazing new stage structures called periactoids…”

Periactoids are essentially huge screens on wheels, about five metres high, that can be manoeuvred quickly by dancers or talent on stage to change the scene or background. They look a bit like giant mirrored doors on runners. “I just thought one could get damaged in transport and what if one fell on someone? Directly after the show it was the usual rabbit-in-the-headlights stuff: shock-slash-relief-slash-disbelief-slash-elation-slash-confusion…” Did Minogue watch it back on BBC iPlayer? “I did. Once that same night. And then once again when I finally had a day off about a week or so later. Just me, my thoughts and… that.”

'I’ve reached a point where I don’t want to become a tribute act to myself. No way. No thank you'

So what was her reaction to her show the second time she watched it? “Tears. Streaming tears.” Considering the response, this will come as a shock to her fans. “I know, I know. My reaction was so at odds with the response and reception it got.” What did she not like about it? “That I hadn’t done it as well as I wanted. I’ve always been so hypercritical. Was this supposed to be the pinnacle of my career? It’s not good enough. I’m better than that. I mean, I am fine now. Sort of. I guess I had to go through that, watch it, look at it objectively and get that out of my system. It just wasn’t perfection in my eyes. I didn’t hit every note, hit every mark, one of the [backing] girls’ mics wasn’t even on… Just stuff. But I have to learn to let it live, as it was for everyone else.”

Did Minogue manage to do as Chris Martin advised backstage and try at least to take some of it in? “You’re so within the show, you know? You’re working,” she explains. “Being asked to do it was unexpected. Wonderful, but unexpected. I was very sorry it didn’t happen in 2005, but I thought my moment had gone, if I am honest with you. I was sad about it. Then years went by and I didn’t think I was cool enough or hip enough – a while ago it was unusual to put pop acts on at Glastonbury. Then the legend slot came up and, well, it’s usually for people who have been around for even longer than I have… And during the show I was panicked about the time and I had everyone in my ear, ‘You can’t go over! You can’t go over!’ And 75 minutes… All I was thinking is a lot can go wrong in 75 minutes!”

As we talk, it’s clear Minogue has still some deep thinking to do on the matter. “It’s so hard to find the right words. The way I describe it now to friends is ‘other’. Glastonbury was ‘other’. I tried to take a snapshot in my mind of the vastness of it all, the crowds and, yes, the moment. But, you know, it’s easier said than done. I’ll be dissecting it for a long time to come, I think. It’s going to be quite difficult. But it marked a point in time, that’s for sure.”

Line drawn. Flag planted. And now what? Well, one thing Kylie Minogue has always been the queen of is The Next, The New, The What Now? It’s a chameleonic shift that has historically taken her from one place, one decade, a rut maybe, or a perceived point of view, an image, a feeling, a lover, a business partner or a mood she no longer wants to somewhere else entirely, somewhere that is still intrinsically “Kylie” to the core, but also someplace fresh. From “other” to another.

If BG (Before Glasto) Minogue felt she wasn’t worthy and DG (During Glasto) felt she somehow, in some weird, messed-up, upside-down way, disconnected with the monumentality of the moment, then PG (Post Glasto) Minogue sure as hell knows what the next chapter should be. Futurism is a language in which Minogue has always been fluent.

Looking back with one eye, while thinking about what’s to come, is actually precisely what Minogue has always excelled at. Think about it: she did it when she left Neighbours in her wake; she did it when, “frustrated and maturing”, she stopped working with hit makers Stock Aitken Waterman and signed with club record scenesters Deconstruction; and she did it when she agreed to duet alongside Cave, the video showing her with crimson hair, skin the colour of milk, murdered, in a river while a snake swims through her legs.

She did it when she found and embraced “the freedom and blinker-removing moment” of a whirlwind romance with Michael Hutchence. And she did it again when she got up on stage at the Poetry Olympics at London’s Royal Albert Hall in 1996, coming out proudly at the height of Britpop, when, to some, she couldn’t have been more uncool, and reading the lyrics to “I Should Be So Lucky” with as much wily irony as Jarvis Cocker’s arched eyebrow.

Kylie Minogue is pop’s Leonard Zelig: always there and yet always true to her different selves. Maybe to some people this might feel like some great revelation: that Kylie Minogue always knew; she always got “it”. Quite frankly, she’s frustrated – no, actually kind of angry – that it’s taken the rest of the world, not least the press, so long to give her the credit she’s worked so hard for.

“Tall poppy syndrome. I have copped that always, forever,” she explains. “I had to learn about that really early on. When I look back on some of those moments, some of those interviews I had to do were honestly hell. I am just really glad that I didn’t give in. And I say give in, as opposed to give up, because there’s a big difference.

“Now, I’ve reached a point where I don’t want to become a tribute act to myself. No way. No thank you. And maybe Glastonbury has allowed me to do what I love, which is wipe the slate clean. I never really plan, there’s no five-, ten-year master strategy, but I always think, ‘I wonder what’s round the corner?’ Maybe I’ll just take a peek. And to do that, to be in that position, you have to work. It’s psychical, it’s emotional. That’s what I would like people to understand. I don’t want to be labelled a fighter. Maybe that’s the wrong word. I’m just… curious.”

And with that, Minogue needs to go. One feels there’s so much more to talk about, to unravel, to figure out. But it will have to wait. There’s an appointment with an osteopath and there’s also a studio booked. New music has been written. There’s even a demo. The next thing, it seems, is just around the corner. But that’s for another time. That’s for tomorrow. Curious? Exciting, isn’t it?

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